


Base Notes

by Sectumsempra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amortentia, M/M, Potions, Potions Class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-24 22:23:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sectumsempra/pseuds/Sectumsempra
Summary: Draco is in the potions classroom, brewing something, as Harry reports for detention.-----He comes close enough to the cauldron – from which smoke now rises in spirals, the surface gleaming like mother of pearl – and this time when he catches the scent, he recognizes it. ”Wait,” he says. ”You're makingperfume?”Malfoy looks at him with a raised brow and a strange, lop-sided simper. ”What perfume?” he asks, which seems like an odd question.”The one you're always wearing, isn't it?”As their eyes meet now, the expression on Malfoy's face, hard to place as it is, makes Harry wish he hadn't spoken.”No fuckingway.”





	Base Notes

Entering the dungeons, he swallows the last piece of the bread he brought with him from dinner. Ends up with crumbles on his shirt and earning disgusted looks from passing Slytherins, no doubt wondering what he is doing down here after hours.

Brushing the crumbs off of him with one hand, he knocks the door of the potions classroom with the other. ”Sir, Harry Potter reporting for detention sir.”

”What did you do this time, _Potter_?” is the reply from inside. Harry enters and, as he closes the door behind him, Malfoy looks up. He stands before a large cauldron, stirring the contents with his wand. ”Hm?”

”Nothing, honestly. Snape just can't miss an opportunity to get alone time with me – it's sad, really. He's starting to look desperate. Where is he?”

”How should I know, I'm not his keeper.”

As he passes the table Malfoy is working by, there's something about the scent of the potion – it seems to belong somewhere else, a scent not associated with any potion he can think of. Before he can place it though, Malfoy notices him staring, and goes ” _What_ , Potter?”

”Nothing.” He strolls towards the back of the classroom, hands in his pockets. ”What are you doing here, anyway? Earned yourself the wrath of the potions master? Land your scrawny arse in detention?

”You'd like that, wouldn't you,” the Slytherin drawls, and it makes Harry snort.

”So what are you up to then? Or – and I suppose it's entirely possible – my punishment is to spend two hours in here with you. Did he order you to sarcasm me to death?” He leans against Snape's desk, watches Malfoy's back as he stirs his whatever-it-is. The bared neck. The curve of the top vertebrae just beneath slicked-back, nearly-white hair.

”He got an order for a potion, he asked me to make it for him.”

”Cute. You run errands for him as well?”

”Really, Potter?” says Malfoy and turns around. ”Don't you know what they say about glass houses and stones? Don't throw the latter in the former.”

Harry doesn't ask what the Slytherin means by this, doesn't have to. Still, unsurprisingly, Malfoy keeps talking.

”Considering how far up Dumbledore's wrinkly old ass your head is, perhaps you'll want to tread real fucking lightly around the teacher's pet topic, no? Then again, of course, you're a Gryffindor and Gryffindors never tread lightly, do you? You charge in like bloody elephants.”

Harry straightens up and approaches the other man, whose hand goes towards where his wand would be, had he not hung his outer robe over the back of a chair some distance away.

”Don't worry, I'm not - ” Harry begins, but then he comes close enough to the cauldron – from which smoke now rises in spirals, the surface gleaming like mother of pearl – and this time when he catches the scent, he recognizes it. ”Wait,” he says. ”You're making _perfume_?”

Malfoy looks at him with a raised brow and a strange, lop-sided simper. ”What perfume?” he asks, which seems like an odd question.

”The one you're always wearing, isn't it? Snape got a bloody order for _perfume_?”

As their eyes meet now, the expression on Malfoy's face, hard to place as it is, makes Harry wish he hadn't spoken.

”No. Fucking. _Way_.” A smirk, somehow more sinister than Harry is used to, spreads across Malfoy's face. ”You smell _my_ perfume?”

He gets the idea he should say ”no,” but instead says ”Yeah, so? That's what it is, isn't it?”

Malfoy snorts.

”I know potions isn't your strong suit, but seriously - this is _Amortentia_ , doofus. You want to explain why it smells like _my perfume_ to you?”

Harry's stomach drops. He feels sick.

”You're shitting me. It's not.” He hears himself, how feeble and pathetic he sounds.

”Isn't it? Look at the bloody ingredients, Potter. Assuming, of course, that our little potions genius knows the ingredients of Amortentia.”

He looks at the items around the cauldron, on the cutting board. Wants not to remember but recalls, vaguely, that the recipe for Amortentia includes at least some of them. Rose thorn, peppermint. Small eggs, he can't remember what kind. Malfoy must be able to tell what he's thinking because he goes ”You know it is, don't you. Which leaves us with the most puzzling question I've ever had; why does Amortentia smell like _my_ perfume to you?”

 _What would Hermione do?_ he asks himself, but of course Hermione would have recognized the potion for what it was from the start and kept her bloody mouth shut, so that train has left the station.

”Well,” he says, ”it's quite obvious, isn't it?”

”It isn't to me,” Malfoy replies, arms crossed over his chest.

”You made it wrong.”

Malfoy laughs, and that's somehow worse than smirks and mockery. ”Oh did I? Because to me it smells just right, like the Slytherin common room and crisp winter mornings. Now why would that be, if it was incorrectly made?”

Harry shrugs. ”What do I know Malfoy, you probably always dreamed of being a Gryffindor. Would explain a lot.”

”That's about the funniest thing I ever fucking heard. Now,” Malfoy sits down, leans back, loosens his tie, making a show of getting comfortable; ”you realize you're not getting out of here until you've explained what the fuck is going on? Oh and I'll even give you the chance of convincing me of why I shouldn't tell _everybody_.”

”You honestly think anyone would believe you? Anyone whose opinion I give a shit about?” At least on this he isn't grasping for straws; Malfoy claiming that Amortentia smells like his perfume to Harry would cause the majority of non-Slytherins to roll their eyes at best. The reaction of the Slytherins he could hardly care less about.

”Either way, that cauldron over there smells like _me_ to you. Explain.” A short silence. ”You _want_ me, Potter?”

He thinks about the possible outcome of this; he's not afraid of everyone finding out, even if they would believe it; he can live with that. The never-ending mockery from the Slytherins, he's had worse. Every day of every year of school in the muggle world prepared him for that; he had no friends backing him up then, Dudley had seen to that. In fact if the Slytherins got something real good to laugh about these last two years of school, good for them. Worse is the idea of Ron finding out, of Ron believing it -

then he thinks of Lucius Malfoy hearing about it, as inevitably he would. He finds himself reflecting upon Voldemort finding out Lucius' son is a weak spot of Harry's; of all the scenarios that might follow. He sees for his inner eye the Dark Lord getting ideas of how he could use Draco to his advantage, would he make the mistake of thinking Harry truly _cares_ for the man.

And he meets Malfoy's eyes and knows he's too naive, is self-centered enough that his grasp of the situation only reaches as far as Hogwarts' gates. That to him this is perhaps the best thing that has ever happened, a gift from above for him to use against Harry, bring down the full force of Slytherin scorn on him for the rest of their time in school; he doesn't reflect upon Lucius hearing about it, nor Voldemort, and Harry thinks _so be it_. For once, let the Slytherin take the consequences of his actions, as dire as they may be.

 _So bloody be it_ , he thinks again, and with a silent prayer that his and Ron's friendship can live through this, he says;

”Okay. Yeah, I do.” Malfoy's brows shoots up and he exhales with sudden force, the sound of _I can't fucking believe it_.

”Well fuck me,” he says.

”That would be moving a bit quick, no?” says Harry.

”It's not just a little, either, if this stuff smells like me, is it?” says Malfoy, and Harry can't argue, can he, he knows perfectly well Amortentia doesn't just smell like things you like. It smells like the things most important; last time, on top of the scent of the Gryffindor common room and the Burrow, had been Ginny's shampoo. And he had been in love with her then.

He thinks of the original comment of his as the small wrong step that sets off an avalanche; once triggered, there's no stopping it.

He thinks of his future and how he might not have one to speak of, can't seem to see the point of pretending, of caring what happens next, of worrying what this may lead to; it seems insignificant in comparison what he has waiting for him, seems fucking ridiculous to give a shit about what Malfoy does with the information; and so he decides to put it all out there and let Malfoy choose what to make of it.

”Fine. Here it is; I'm fucking obsessed with you. I'd say in love if it was anyone else but interestingly enough I still don't _like_ you, funny how those things turned out not to be mutually exclusive. You're still the most self-absorbed goddamned brat in Hogwarts history and somehow as much as I want to jump you whenever I see you, I also want to punch that self-righteous smirk right of your pretty little face.”

Malfoy doesn't seem to know what to make of it, at all. ”Fucking hell, Potter. This is... this is just _golden_. For how long? For how long have you wanted me?”

Harry rolls his eyes. ”You just ignored literally everything I said about still loathing you, right? Christ.”

” _For how long, Potter_?”

”I don't know, okay? I don't know.”

”Bloody _hell._ ”

”Yeah you said. Anything else?”

”You realize all of Hogwarts will know about this tomorrow? I don't give a shit if some of them won't believe it, a lot of them will.”

”You sure about that, Malfoy? Out of the two of us, who is the most obviously obsessed with the other? You ever heard of projecting? I suppose you wouldn't. Still, I'd be careful if I were you. Since the first time we spoke you haven't been able to stop bugging me. People have noticed, you know.”

”We'll see, won't we.”

”I suppose we will.” Malfoy gives him a long look, then fetches his wand and goes back to the cauldron to whisk the potion. This leaves him momentarily with his back to Harry, who wonders what the fuck he has gotten himself into. Finds himself chuckling with the thought of what will meet him when he exits the Gryffindor tower tomorrow morning.

Malfoy throws him a glance. ”What?”

”Nothing. So how are you going to announce this? Calling to an emergency meeting down in the common room as soon as you're out of here?”

”Thanks for the idea. You think I should get some snacks as well? Could make an event of it.” Malfoy turns away from the cauldron, ambles closer, twisting his wand between his fingers.

”You know I'm surprised there has been no 'you're gay, Potter?'” Harry says. ”Are we not doing that thing?”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. ”What are we, ten?” he says.

”For you that's a bit of a stretch.”

”No one will give a shit that you like _boys_ , Pothead. Save for perhaps a couple of sad little fanboys of yours who will pee themselves with the idea that they might have a chance. But the fact that you like _me_? Oh dear, my whole house will have a field day with that.” He comes to lean against one of the desks closest to Snape's, facing Harry, still spinning his wand between his fingers. ”I'm guessing you swing both ways, anyway – unless what you had going on with Chang and Ginny Weasley was all acting?"

”No. That was... that was real.”

”Well then.” Malfoy pauses in his movements. ”Does your friends know?”

”That I _like boys_? Yeah. Sorry to disappoint. You don't get to out me to them.”

”I kinda get to out you. Weasley is gonna fucking murder you, Potter.”

”Ron is not going to believe you for one bloody second. In fact, he's suggested perhaps you are oriented that way. That thing you've got with Pansy never seemed very convincing, did it?” Ron having mentioned this isn't a lie, ('Come on, with that hair? And that perfume? Two sickles says he'll be out before we graduate'), but Harry still only says it as a snide remark, just to pass the time, if he's lucky Snape will arrive very soon and relieve him of having to stand Malfoy looking at him and _knowing_. He isn't expecting Malfoy to tilt his head to the side and say;

”Did he, now? Maybe the Weasel isn't as dense as he looks.” Harry blinks. ”Oh come on. It's not a secret me and Pansy haven't been a thing since she found me making out with Blaise at a party last year.”

Harry grasps for words, finds none. Gets distracted by the thought of Malfoy kissing the dark-haired Blaise; the image isn't entirely disgusting. What a goddamn shame the Slytherins never invited Gryffindors to their parties.

”Why are you telling me this?” he asks, finally. For some reason, Malfoy has waited for him to speak. How very charitable of him. The Slytherin shrugs.

”Why not? Me being into guys is no secret, Pansy made sure of that. Sadly for her, nobody cared. Nobody dared to comment. It is of no consequence to me if it gets out. Nothing like the news of The Boy Who Lived wanting into the pants of a Death Eater's son.”

”The pants of a Death Eater-to-be, you mean?” Harry says, his words in harsh contrast against their bickering; a charged silence is left suspended between them. Malfoy doesn't protest, which is sickening, and Harry is reminded of all the things that makes his feelings for the other man not just pubertal and pathetic but potentially dangerous, and how they will end up on opposite sides of an inevitable war. He's left wondering what the fuck he is doing. What the fuck they are doing.

”What about said Death Eater anyway?” he asks. ”He doesn't mind you making out with Blaise Zabini instead of Pansy Parkinson?”

”Daddy dearest doesn't give two shits about what I do nor with whom as long as I present good grades at the end of the year.”

”That's nice.”

”Although, to be fair... I bet he'd love to hear about how I got Wonderboy drooling after me.”

”Good for you.”

”Now, bullshit aside Potter... Pretty as I may be, why _me?"_

” _Why_?” Harry says. ”How the fuck should I know? Since when is there logic and reason to this shit?”

”I know there isn't. But you could have anyone. Not saying everyone _wants_ you, but no one would say no to having a shag with Potter on their merit list. Fun conversation starter, if nothing else.”

”Maybe it's just that,” he says, chuckles. ”Wanting what you can't have and all that? Not that I'm particularly popular with any Slytherin, but you're the one person who looks at me with disgust, like I'm a slug you want to smother under your shoe.”

”You hate yourself that much?” Malfoy says, and it doesn't quite come out sounding like sarcasm.

”Apparently. You know, I really liked Cho. I really, really liked Ginny. But it wasn't this. Wasn't like this.”

”What's this like?” The question is asked in earnest, in a way that takes him by surprise.

”Why? Want details for when you out me to the school?”

”I'll keep the details to myself.”

”What, I have your word? Your promises don't mean that much to me, you know.”

”Tell me anyway. Why the fuck not. In lack of real ones it's not like I can't make some up. You know. For the event in the common room.” Harry scoffs. Thinks _yeah. Why the fuck not_.

”You know when you were in the infirmary after that fall during Quidditch practice?”

”That pain isn't something I'm going to forget in the first place. Go on.” Malfoy heaves himself up on the desk behind him, as if expecting the story to be long and good. The scent of his perfume lies like a mist around the room, though Harry isn't sure if it's coming from the man himself or the cauldron. Perhaps both.

”That was two days right. And I couldn't fucking think about anything else, not getting to see you... Hermione kept saying I seemed distracted, wondered what was wrong. Around lunch the second day I couldn't help myself, and I go to Zabini, who I've hardly ever bloody talked to, to ask. Had to know when you were coming back.”

Malfoy laughs. ”Oh yeah, he told me. Fuck me, you actually bloody _missed_ me. Blaise thought you were asking in hope it was really bad. Like, gone from Quidditch for weeks bad. Was happy about delivering the news of me getting to leave the infirmary that night.”

”Missed. Well, sure. The way a junkie misses heroin.”

”A – what?”

”Never mind. And then you come back right, the morning after in the Great Hall, and you're limping. Graceful, proud Draco... _limping_. Prettiest thing I ever fucking saw. Pain really suits you, you know. God it almost hurt not being able to go up to you and whisper in your ear something about... if you can't stay on your broom perhaps you should ride with me from now on.”

”You should've,” Malfoy says, pushing away from the desk.

”What?”

”You should've asked me. To ride with you.” He says this as he comes to invade Harry's space, pulls him close by the hem of his robes and kisses him.

At first Harry responds, almost out of reflex, but then the situation catches up with him and he turns his head away, tries to breathe. ”Wait – what are you -”

”You going to let me change my mind?” the other man asks.

He doesn't know why Malfoy is playing him, but of course he is. Perhaps the Slytherin has a pensieve and means to put this memory in, invite people for a sickle. _Look at how desperately he clung on to me, like he hasn't gotten any in years._ He can't bring himself to care either way, can't let the moment slip away – and so he turns his face back to Malfoy's and kisses him.

He takes in all the details – the way Malfoy smells up close (isn't wearing his perfume at all, Harry realizes, just smells like _him_ which is something different entirely), the way he tastes, the way the Slytherin is resting one of his hands at the nape of Harry's neck, still holding on to his robes with the other. Doesn't matter what the fuck Malfoy does with this, the memory of it is going to make for the best of late night fantasies for as long as this pubertal infatuation lasts.

In his fantasies, the ones he's had for months now, Malfoy's been an aggressive kisser, demanding and rough. Absurd as the idea has been in itself, it's been the only way Harry's been able to imagine the Slytherin would kiss him. Instead, the kiss is soft but strangely passionate, almost believable. Wanting just a little bit more before Malfoy decides he's done playing, Harry hooks a finger into the hem of the other boy's pants, pulling him closer. Malfoy loses his balance for a second, almost falls against Harry, and that's when he feels the other boy's hard-on against his inner thigh. He breaks the kiss and looks down.

”What, Potter? Never seen a hard-on before?”

”I thought – _knew_ \- I was being played, but... that's not pretend, is it.” When he looks up and meets Malfoy's eyes there's no pretense there, either, lids heavy and gaze hazy with arousal.

”It's nothing personal, I was just thinking of Blaise.” Harry laughs.

”Really? You just got hard making out with me, and you're gonna keep playing games?”

”Isn't that what we do?”

”You're attracted to me, asshole.” Harry chuckles. ”And you couldn't even hide it for a full twenty minutes after finding out it's mutual. Christ.” Malfoy comes closer again, pressing in.

”I'm used to getting what I want. Who the fuck has time to waste. We've had six years worth of foreplay, this is a bloody long time co -”

” _Foreplay_?” Harry pushes Malfoy back a little now, not enough to lose contact entirely, but enough to look him in the face. ”You referring to how you've been bullying my friends? Calling Hermione a mudblood, giving Ron shit for being poor? That stuff?”

”Yeah whatever. Everyone knows it's a classic, what with nemeses becoming lovers.”

”Nemesis.” Harry laughs. ”You got to be fucking kidding me. You think I consider _you_ my nemesis? You forgot about that one dark wizard who's constantly trying to murder me? And you think I consider you anything but a fucking nuisance?” Malfoy raises a brow.

”One you want to shag, apparently.”

”Yeah well. I'm an idiot. What's your excuse?”

”My excuse is you're just about the only person in this place who doesn't bore me.”

He doesn't know what to say to that. Malfoy starts moving away, and he says ”Don't go.”

”Have to tend to my potion, don't I. If it gets ruined because you're here, how do I explain that to Snape?” Harry unwillingly lets him go, and Malfoy saunters back to the cauldron. Harry looks at him where he stands, then to the closed door through which Snape is yet to enter.

”He fucking planned this,” he says then. Malfoy looks up.

”Hm?”

”Think about it. When have you ever known Snape to be late, save for dramatic effect? And he happens to be just as he's asked you to make a potion for him, and had me come for detention. Does he usually have you make potions for him?”

”Well, he... he does compliment me for my talents in potions, and he said he was short on time -”

” _Have you ever made a potion for him before_?” Malfoy doesn't answer this, which says enough.

”Say you're right. How the fuck would he have known?”

Harry thinks back to the Occlumency lessons. During the previous year he had too much occupying his mind to have time to stop and think about what was going on with his feelings regarding Malfoy, but he had known there was something. He wonders if Snape, seeing images of Malfoy among the other memories, would have been able to interpret them for what they were. He and Malfoy were, after all, up in each others faces on a weekly basis, and so some memories of the Slytherin were to be expected. Had Snape seen that something had changed? Noticed what Harry himself hadn't stopped to think about yet at the time?

”I guess he must have noticed during potions,” he says.

”You mean like you drooling too badly after me to concentrate?”

”Sure, whatever. Though he wouldn't have realize that it was... reciprocated. Going to go out on a limb and say he probably wasn't looking to matchmake.”

Malfoy shakes his head.

”If only you Gryffindors could learn not to wear your hearts on your sleeves, eh?”

”You do realize this means he doesn't care for your skills in potions, and that the idea that he'd have a student make potions for him, the quality of which he has to answer for, is fucking ridiculous? Takes you to actually buy that.”

”Not convinced, Potter. Seems like there would be easier ways to out your feelings for me.”

”Perhaps.”

He watches Malfoy slowly stir the potion, head yet again bent in a way that exposes his neck.

”So what... what do we make of this?” Harry asks then.

”Hm?”

”Now that I know you're hot for me I'm not letting you off the hook. Do we meet in dark hallways between lessons to make out?”

Malfoy shrugs.

”I don't see why not. Isn't that what normal teenagers do?” He looks up. ”And if you're real lucky, Potter, I might just take you to a room with a mattress on the floor and a lock on the door.” Harry doesn't allow himself to think about this any further, because he can't have a hard-on if Snape decides to show up after all.

He doesn't have time to think of anything to say, because at that moment the door opens and Snape does comes striding in, his robes billowing in that characteristic, ridiculous way. He looks between them for a moment, maybe looking for signs that his plan worked. Eyes still on Harry – who has hurriedly stepped away from the desk – he says;

”How is the potion coming along, Draco?”

”Oh it's working perfectly.”

”Leave it to simmer, I'll take care of the rest while Potter here scrubs some cauldrons.”

”I'm glad you found a use for him, professor.” Malfoy smirks at Harry as he gets his robes. He straightens his tie and Harry thinks about using it to pull the other boy in, to keep him in place. ”I guess I'll see you around.”

”If you're lucky.”

He watches Malfoy leave. Looks then at Snape who notices him staring. ”What, Potter?”

He's certain there is no way this was all a coincidence. Wants to tell Snape to his dumb face that it backfired, _didn't fucking expect that, did you, asshole_. Says ”Nothing.” Saunters over to where the dirty cauldrons are stacked. Gets to work while doing his best to ignore the scent of Malfoy lingering around the room.


End file.
